


On The Phone Again

by mansikka



Series: On the phone [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Human Castiel, Injured Dean, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:45:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Am I supposed to ask what you’re wearing?”</p><p>Nothing, Dean thinks to himself, absolutely nothing on this earth makes him grin like an idiot like Cas does. “You been doing research, Cas?”</p><p>“I understand the principles of phone sex, Dean.” Cas’ voice is muffled; Dean hears a soft thud and pictures Cas kicking off his shoes, settling down on the bed.</p><p>Dean may have been hiding a hope within a joke a few days ago when he’d suggested he teach Cas about phone sex, but it seems to be that Cas needs no such introduction. Dean shivers in something like anticipation.</p><p>“So if you know the principles, why’re you asking?”</p><p>“Then tell me, Dean. What are you wearing?” Cas’ voice drops; Dean knows it is intentional and swallows hard.</p><p>“I. I just came to my room-”</p><p>“Your room, Dean?”</p><p>“Our. Our room.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Phone Again

“Am I supposed to ask what you’re wearing?”

Nothing, Dean thinks to himself, absolutely nothing on this earth makes him grin like an idiot like Cas does. “You been doing research, Cas?”

“I understand the principles of phone sex, Dean.” Cas’ voice is muffled; Dean hears a soft thud and pictures Cas kicking off his shoes, settling down on the bed.

Dean may have been hiding a hope within a joke a few days ago when he’d suggested he teach Cas about phone sex, but it seems to be that Cas needs no such introduction. Dean shivers in something like anticipation.

“So if you know the principles, why’re you asking?”

“Then tell me, Dean. What are you wearing?” Cas’ voice drops; Dean knows it is intentional and swallows hard.

“I. I just came to my room-”

“ _Your_ room, Dean?”

“Our. Our room.”

Cas nods in satisfaction. “Were you thinking of going to bed?”

Dean shrugs to himself. “There’s no one here. I didn't know if you’d be calling, so…”

“Sam isn't here right now. I am alone in this motel room and you are there alone in the bunker. I believe we should do something about that.”

Dean grins to himself and slides further down against the headboard, head dropping to rest on the top of it. “Well,” he starts, looking down at himself. “I'm currently wearing this stupid-ass bandage that swaddles most of my left leg from the knee down. I have on grey boxer briefs, and they are actually grey. Not old and faded.”

“That is good to know.” There is a smile in Cas’ voice that Dean feels himself lean into. “Anything else?”

“Just a t.”

“Which?”

“The grey Zeppelin one.”

“Take it off.” There is command there, but it’s gentle.

“Oh-okay,” Dean agrees, shucking out of it awkwardly and dropping it to the side of the bed. “What about you? What are you wearing?”

Cas smiles at the shyness in Dean’s voice. There was a time until quite recently when Dean would never had to ask that question because Cas only ever wore what Dean christened holy tax accountant. But since this vessel had become his alone, Cas had started to make his own choices in clothes. Dean had taken great interest in what Cas’ wore since then.

“I'm wearing those faded blue jeans with the rip in the right knee.” He sticks a finger in the gap of the rip and wiggles it. “A rip that is getting wider.” He adds in afterthought. “I'm wearing the navy blue shirt that you like.”

Dean feels his mouth dry. Cas looks really, really good in that shirt.

“I do like that shirt.”

“Do you like it more or less if I unbutton it?”

“I...Oh god. Both.” Dean knows without a shadow of a doubt that there is nothing he would not do for Cas when he’s using That voice. And that Cas will use that fact to full advantage. He doesn’t mind one bit.

“Okay, Dean.” Cas says reasonably. “I'm unbuttoning it now.”

“I-I can hear.” And he can hear, sort of, the soft sound of buttons being pressed out of their buttonholes and the cotton of the shirt being brushed away from his skin.

“If I unbutton my fly, Dean. Would you touch yourself for me? Through your boxers?”

Dean’s eyes shoot up, half aroused, half surprised. “You sure you haven’t done this before, Cas?”

“Is that a yes?” Cas says smoothly, and Dean hears the distinct sound of a button being unfastened against denim.

“Fuck. That’s a yes.”

“Then tell me.”

“Uh…” He glances down, hand twitching against the curve of his length. “Well. I'm half hard already, Cas. That’s just with you speaking to me.”

“Do you remember what I like to do to you when you’re only half-hard, Dean?”

Dean nods shakily, phone slipping in his hand. “Yes.”

“What do I do, Dean?”

“I…you...mouth. You take me in your mouth.” He twitches in response, a hand hovering over the now frankly ridiculous bulge in his boxers. He does not know how Cas manages to make him fall apart the way he does, or how quickly he does it.

“And do you like it when I take you in my mouth, Dean?”

Dean presses his hand firmly down on himself with that, eyes fluttering shut. “You know I do, Cas. You know it.”

Cas lets out a soft sigh of regret. “I wish I were there to do that for you now.”

“Me too. God, me too.”

Cas shifts a little. “My zip is a little strained, Dean. I am very hard. I have been thinking about you all day. It’s making it very difficult to pull the zip down.”

Dean listens to the faint noise of a zipper being tugged down and then a sigh of relief.

“Oh, that feels better, Dean. Much better. I pulled my boxers down too. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind at all, Cas.” Dean palms himself steadily, breath hitching.

“Would you like me to send you a picture?”

Dean can very loudly and clearly hear the shutter noise of the camera on Cas’ phone, and his heart pounds in response. “Yes! Send me that!” He shouts, with not the slightest care for dignity.

Dean waits, hearing Cas’ thumbs tap against the screen of his phone, and when he opens the message with the picture he has to breathe out shallowly to steady himself.

“Fuck, Cas. You look so good there. I want you. So much.”

“I know, Dean.”

Dean just breathes into the phone.

“Can you take your boxers off for me, Dean?”

Dean has never removed his underwear so quickly in his life.

“They’re off.”

“Good. And how do you look?”

“Uh...hard, Cas. Really hard.”

Cas smiles into the phone. “Can you do something for me, Dean?”

“S-sure?”

“Can you wrap your hand around yourself and stroke, very slowly for me?”

Dean’s hand moves automatically and he lets out a soft guttural nose. “I am. I did.” he stumbles out.

“Keep doing that. Can you send me a picture?”

Dean’s never really been one for sending naked pictures of himself, not that he’s not happily received a few in his time. But for Cas he doesn't even hesitate.

Dean waits for Cas to open his message and he hears a happy sigh. “Oh, Dean. You look so good. You made me even harder, do you know that? I must touch myself now. Is that okay?”

“Fuck.” Is all Dean can manage.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Cas too makes some low, deep throated noises of approval and Dean’s hand pumps in response. “That sounds good, Dean. And this, this feels very good.”

“Here too, Cas. Wish you were here to do it.”

“I know, Dean. Soon. My hand feels empty only holding my own cock. I wish you were here so I could be stroking you against me. Do you know how good that feels?”

“Unh.” Dean’s self control has gone out the window; he’d always thought doing this with Cas would be a long, drawn out awkward thing and that he’d have to give him some pointers. Clearly he was kidding himself that he’d be anything but putty in his (own) hands just hearing Cas speak. He’d told him as much already, and yet here he is, pumping furiously at himself at the thought of what Cas is doing with his own hand and the noises that confirm exactly what he’s thinking.

Cas has now given up the pretence of speaking as well.

There is nothing, no words, no sounds but the slip slide of skin and breathy moans caught in their throats.

They’re both close.

Cas begins muttering Dean’s name, over and over like a chant. His hand moves faster and his tone dips lower, and lower, and Dean gasps out in response.

“Dean…” he hears, urgency and want layered in that one word, which is enough just to push Dean over the edge. Dean comes with a judder, choking out Cas’ name into the phone and collapsing back against the headboard, hand still moving slowly as he listens to Cas grind out nondescript expletives and come himself.

For a few minutes they are wordless, silently regaining their breath.

Dean hears Cas moving, and he feels a little disappointment that it’s over, that Cas is keen to finish this so soon.

Cas is clearly a mind reader. “I thought I should...clean myself up before your brother returns. He only went out for snacks,” Cas offers in explanation, and Dean hears himself being tucked into the crook of Cas’ neck, along with the turning of the faucet. He listens for the wiping of a towel, and thinks he hears Cas shrugging out of his jeans.

“Hold on,” Cas says, and Dean realises Cas is changing his shirt. He waits, already wiping himself clean and tucking himself back into his boxers. He’s too spent to even wriggle beneath the covers at that point.

“Okay, I'm back.”

“You thinking about bed?” Dean closes his eyes, reaches a hand out to the cold side of the bed and sighs wistfully.

“No. I’m thinking about you. I enjoyed that, Dean.”

“Me too.”

“I’m sorry this has taken longer than we expected. I wish I were sleeping beside you tonight.”

“Yeah, me too on that as well. I-” Dean clears his throat. “I miss you, Cas. I really miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Think you’ll be heading back tomorrow?” he asks in hope.

“I’ll check with Sam.”

Sam, who always seems to have both the best and worst of timing chooses that moment to return to the motel room.

Dean hears him mumble a ‘hey’ at Cas, followed by the soft thud of something landing on the bed. The plastic rustling sound he hears tells him that it’s candy, and the contented huff tells him it’s a Twix, which is Cas’ current favourite.

“Sam wants to talk to you,” he hears through half-chewed chocolate.

Dean imagines Sam sitting on the edge of his own bed between his and Cas’, frowning that concerned frown he does so well.

“Hey, Dean. How’s the leg?” He smiles.

“Still there, Sam. All good? You guys finished up?”

“I think so yeah. I’ll do a quick scope in the morning after breakfast and make sure but yeah, I think we’ll be headed back tomorrow. Want anything picking up?”

“Get Cas a multipack of Twix, would ya? I ate the last one. And maybe some more beer? You give me an ETA, I’ll cook us some dinner.”

“You gonna be alright standing that long?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “If not, I’ll just lean. Come on, Sam. It’s cooking. It’s my domain,” he says proudly, catching himself in his own little domesticity bubble.

“Okay,” Sam laughs. “I’ll message you when we’re setting off, okay?”

“Good. Sorry I couldn't be there.”

“Couldn't be helped.”

“Pass me back to Cas, would ya? See you tomorrow, Sammy.”

Dean can hear Sam smirking as he passes the phone. He knows he can. No one else smirks quite so audibly as Sam.

“Are you cooking, Dean?” Cas asks, one last thick swallow telling Dean the Twix has been finished.

“Well not right now. But tomorrow for when you get back, sure.”

“I have a dilemma.”

“What?”

Cas sighs theatrically. “I am torn between wanting to tell you not to strain yourself, and asking you to cook that spaghetti and meatball dish again.”

Dean hears Sam’s enthusiastic approval of this idea from across the room and laughs.

“Spaghetti and meatballs it is.”

“Thank you, Dean. And then bed.” He adds firmly.

“Hey! Still in the room, guys, come on!” Sam shouts, making Dean laugh again.

“You got that right, Cas. You, me, this bed. That’s all I want.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.

“I should say goodnight,” Cas grumbles, and Sam agrees in the background,

“Yes you should, Cas. I don’t want to play third wheel to the Waltons.”

“Throw a pillow at him, Cas.”

“I would. But the pillows are exceptionally poor quality. I will need three to even feel marginally comfortable. I much prefer ours,” he adds contemptuously.

“You much prefer using me as a pillow, actually.”

“I do.” Cas smiles into the phone, and Dean breathes deep, willing tomorrow to arrive very quickly.

“Night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”


End file.
